


The Mechanic

by Finely Honed (jaqen_hgar)



Series: Imagine Tony & Bucky [56]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Flirting, Hitchhiking, M/M, Mechanic Tony Stark, Motorcycles, Road Trips, Tattooed Bucky Barnes, War Veteran Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-29
Updated: 2015-07-29
Packaged: 2018-04-11 23:18:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4456337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaqen_hgar/pseuds/Finely%20Honed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <span class="small">Prompt: Tony, the secret(ish) genius mechanic. Bucky, the soldier who needs his bike fixed. Greasy Tony with a wrench and a smirk, and maybe he owns a company, yeah, so what? He liks to fix cars, what's it to ya?</span>
</p><p>Whenever they tried to explain to people how it was they met, it always sounded to Bucky a bit like they were describing the beginning of a porno.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Mechanic

Whenever they tried to explain to people how it was they met, it always sounded to Bucky a bit like they were describing the beginning of a porno.

Summertime, hot and humid, and Bucky’s bike just had to go and break down on him right in the middle of nowhere. Steve had tried to talk his way into coming along on the road trip, but Sam had taken Bucky’s side, pointed out that maybe the ex-sniper needed to prove himself capable of doing it alone. Bucky had been to hell and back thanks to the Army, but even short one flesh and blood arm he could defend himself if need be.

Which was why he was alone, and annoyed. It wasn’t just his bike; his phone was also dead, because he had some sort of mental block about remembering to charge the damned thing. Couldn’t call for a tow, couldn’t call just to whine to Stevie about his (beautiful) piece of shit bike, couldn’t do much of anything aside from strip down to his undershirt and glare down at the hunk of machinery as he wiped sweat from his brow.

Not the end of the world, certainly, but he wasn’t the sort of fella people picked up hitchhiking. He’d been growing the hair out since being discharged, hadn’t bothered to shave in a day or two, either. Beat up blue jeans, dusty boots. Since coming home he’d picked up where he’d left off with the tattoos as well, so that his right arm was just about covered now, a mix of old and new school styles that to others might seem a bit chaotic, but made him feel like he’d finally begun putting himself back together again.

So, sure, it wasn’t the worst that could have happened in the grand scheme of things, it was just not how he’d wanted to spend the day. On the upside, there was a town a couple miles down the road, and he wasn’t above walking. Hell, seemed like most of what you did in the Army was walking and waiting, so he had plenty of practice.

Bucky loaded up on everything he could carry, was in the process of psyching himself up to walk away from the bike, feeling oddly like he was abandoning a wounded comrade in their time of need, when a car roared into sight over the ridge. Whoever was driving had to be going almost eighty miles  _over_  the speed limit, which was impressive. More impressive was that the car stopped on a dime upon spotting him at the side of the road.

He’d expected some slick dick to step out of a ride like that, or a pudgy man past his prime with something to prove, but instead he was treated to the sight of a well worn pair of boots, blue Dickies work pants, and a black tank top so tight it looked to be painted on. The man was a confusing mix of compact, practical muscle, meticulously groomed facial hair, and grease smudges.

“Hey soldier,” he called in a playful voice that should  _not_  have made Bucky’s stomach flutter in anticipation. “Looks like you could use a hand.”

Under different circumstances, it’d sound entirely innocent; a good samaritan stopping to help a fellow human being in need of assistance. The problem was that Bucky hadn’t been laid since forever, and had reached the point where he now felt comfortable enough about his body to be interested in sex again. And here comes this guy outta nowhere that could’ve rolled off the Bucky’s Type assembly line. His dick was instantly perking up and thinking of all sorts of things this fella could give him a hand with.

“Depends on the hand, I guess.”

The guy smiled and pushed his sunglasses up into his messy brown hair, and that’s it, Bucky’s officially in lust. Mischievous is what comes to mind, because that’s the look in his big brown eyes, which are ringed with downright pretty lashes. He’s at least a couple inches shorter than Bucky, but acts like it’s the opposite, something that comes across in his walk and in the assessing look he’s laying on Bucky.

Short, dark, and handsome did something downright criminal involving his teeth and his lower lip. “Never had any complaints.”

Bucky wanted to come up with a witty retort, but they’d reached the inevitable point of discovery. He watched as the brown eyes took in the complete package, lingering on the left side of his body, where his prosthetic was clearly visible, and out of habit he stood a little taller, squared his shoulders.

But nothing changed in the guy’s expression. He just got back around to looking Bucky in the eyes, the smile a little wider if anything. If the arm creeped him out, he was good at hiding it, was now running that assessing gaze of his over the bike. “That’s a sweet WLA you’ve got. It’s a ‘43, right?”

“Yeah.”

Some of his surprise must have slipped into his voice, because sex on a stick was grinning wider, stepping around him and getting up close with the bike. The view from behind was _devastating_ , because the guy has the sort of ass Bucky could happily commit the rest of his life to worshipping.

“Hey, baby,” the guy cooed, reaching out to run one of his hands along the bike’s flank as if it were a spooked animal. “What’s the matter, soldier boy ride you too hard? It’s okay, tell Tony where it hurts.”

It should be funny, or quirky, but in reality Bucky has never been more attracted to another person in his life, nor more jealous of a bit of machinery.

“You two need to be alone?”

Tony sniffs, head tilting to the side as he examines something, and pulls a wrench out of his boot. He doesn’t use it on the bike, though, just stands up and twirls it in his hand, the metal flashing in the sunlight.

“I think I’m in love,” he said, glancing over his shoulder at the bike.

“Well, fix her for me and I’ll take you for a ride.”

The hand not twirling the wrench shot out in Bucky’s direction, and he took it without thinking, shaking, noting the firm grip and calloused fingers. “Deal. I’m Tony, by the way.”

“James,” he answered, “but everyone calls me Bucky.”

“Well, James,” Tony all but purred, “you’ll learn pretty fast I’m not like everyone else.”

If it had actually been a cheesy porno, this would be the point where Tony unzipped his pants and revealed exactly  _why_  he was so special. Instead, he tucked the wrench into his back pocket and pulled out a phone. “Hey Morris, need a tow back to the garage.” Tony gave the coordinates, never breaking eye contact. “We can head out,” he announced when the call was complete. “No one will mess with her. I’m hungry. You hungry?”

“Starving,” Bucky answered, but it wasn’t food he was desperate for. Bucky had the sneaking suspicion Tony could see the dirty little film reel playing in his brain, because his tongue darted out to wet his lower lip, and he tilted his head a bit to the side, almost as if in challenge.

“Might have to fabricate a part, could take a bit. Hope you weren’t planning to rush off.”

Bucky smiled, canted his hips as he shifted his duffel bag back onto his shoulder. “I got all the time in the world, and nowhere in particular to be,” he answered easily. “I’m at your disposal.”

Tony’s nostrils flared ever so slightly at this, lips parting as the smile returned. “Lucky me. Come on,” he crooked his finger as he walked back to the car, a little sway to his hips. Bucky had the oddest compulsion to crawl after him. “We can drop your stuff at my place, then grab some lunch. I’ve got plenty of room, so you can stay with me until the bike’s finished.”

“And until we go for that ride,” Bucky reminded him, circling around to the passenger’s side, grinning at Tony before slipping inside.

“Why do I get the feeling you’re a handful?” Tony asked, sliding the sunglasses back in place.

Bucky waited for him to get in the car before answering, “Definitely more than a handful.”

Turned out Tony’s laugh was even better than his smile. He could remember being a big fan of it from the beginning, could recall spending the short ride to Tony’s place—which turned out to just be one of many around the  _world_ —daydreaming on how that laugh would feel if he was sheathed in Tony’s body, never really expecting he’d get the opportunity to find out first hand. Certainly never expected that six years down the road, that particular laugh would be the center of his universe.

“There is no way you met like that,” Bucky’s cousin insisted, sounding almost angry about it. “People don’t just break down on the side of the road, then get picked up by millionaires and spend the rest of their lives with them!”

“Billionaire,” Tony interjected. “Look at this guy! You think I was going to just let him ride out of my life? Nuh uh.”

“It’s rude to question a couple’s romantic origin story on their wedding day,” Pepper grumbled, giving Bucky’s cousin the stink eye.

Sensing a fight about to break out, Bucky grabbed Tony and dragged him onto the dance floor. “Think it’d sound more realistic if we left in all the dirty parts?”

“They don’t need to know we never made it to lunch,” Tony said. “Still want to worship my ass for the rest of your life?”

Bucky smiled down at his husband. “I do.”

**Author's Note:**

> Just imagine cheesy porno music playing as they're out on that dusty road...


End file.
